


Questionable Intentions

by Sconce_of_Inanity



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sconce_of_Inanity/pseuds/Sconce_of_Inanity
Summary: Ethics can be tricky things.





	Questionable Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stat/gifts).



> Dedicated to Stat, who unknowingly gave me the idea for this ficlet. Same characterizations as in Falling Slowly and can be read as an extension, but most likely takes place in an alternate reality where happy endings are possible, so standalone-ish. Cleaned it up a bit, the first draft was pounded out very quickly, but tried to limit my tinkering, as it is both better and worse than my usual. I tend to muck things up with overthinking and over-editing.

“Honey?”

I tense immediately at the hated pet name that issues from another room in the house, knowing its usage signals my lover’s displeasure with some perceived slight on my part, and he has grown adept to the point of absurdity at punishing me, having learned all of my weaknesses intimately.

_**Not that he ever fails to make it up to me. Discipline followed by reward. Standard behavioral conditioning that I never should have tolerated in the first place… I think I act out simply to be punished now, which is far too similar to Reno for my liking.** _

Stepping back from the ‘work of art’ I had been absorbed in bringing into existence, I set aside the wooden oil paint palette on the small supply table next to the easel. The only benefit that had resulted from my wasted time with one of several incompetent shrinks was his suggestion that I take up a creative, nonviolent hobby to express my inner emotions, advice I had scoffed at but Reeve had loved the idea and then proceeded to annoy me until I tried it. What I paint does not, in any way, shape, or form, represent my feelings, but is ‘creative’, in a manner of speaking, as I attempt to craft the most hideous, soul-melting combinations of clashing colors and jarring contours. I was pleasantly surprised to find I enjoy the practice, but very unpleasantly surprised that the Commissioner seems to genuinely adore the monstrosities and now I am forced to endure the sight of the many he has managed to manipulate me into allowing to be hung in our residence.

_**I will find a method for destroying them where my culpability is believably deniable.** _

I untie the apron I am wearing and toss it carelessly in the general direction of a counter, before turning to the door and calling out, “Yes, dear?”, hoping against hope that playing along will lessen his verdict regarding whatever I have done wrong.

“That’s not going to work,” he states flatly as he walks into my recreational room, frowns briefly at the discarded article of clothing on the floor, and then levels a stern glare at me.

I sigh and curse internally. “What have I done now?”

“Why is there a Reeve-alike in our home, one that is claiming to be _yours_?”

“ _Finally_ ,” I say to myself with absent but heartfelt relief as I begin to stride around my visibly irritated partner.

“’ _Finally_ ’?” he repeats back incredulously and follows in my wake. “What do you mean, ‘ _finally_ ’?”

“I ordered it months ago. I was starting to think it wouldn’t arrive.”

“Then this isn’t a mistake?”

The tone of his question should put me on high alert, but I am distracted by sorting through the myriad, seemingly endless possibilities that I had already considered in the past and prioritizing which is to be attempted the soonest. “No, the only mistake is the backlog in meeting production demands,” I reply, unable to keep the faint criticism out of my voice.

“It is _not_ something that can be rushed,” he retorts sharply, “and it was _you_ who was so adamant that I ensure the effectiveness of the abuse prevention monitoring and defense systems, not to mention the free will generator that lets them choose what they will or will not do, which I have to _personally program for each individual model_.”

Grimacing, I stop in my trek of the hallway and turn to face him. “You’re right, I’m sorry, but you could delegate more.”

“And who exactly do you think I could trust to do that?”

I can see in his countenance that he is becoming increasingly upset and I reach out to grasp his stiff shoulders, relieved when he doesn’t pull away, and I reassure him solemnly, firmly, “You are _completely_ right. I apologize, beautiful.”

My targeted and rare use of a disgustingly cute endearment fails to fully erase the displeasure from his face, but his expression does soften slightly. I squeeze him gently and lingeringly run my hands down over his arms to graze my fingers along his knuckles, maintaining direct eye contact with him, before drawing my touch back and rotating of my heel to enter into the living room.

When my sight falls on the delectable visage of his robotic doppelganger that is lounging on our couch in a casual pose, I can’t fight the smirk which curves up my mouth wickedly, nor how it grows in intensity as the eerie replica raises its gaze and responds to my heated look with a devilish grin. Even though apparel customization is available, it is dressed in a perfect imitation of the Commissioner’s work attire, an option I had chosen because I have plenty of access to clothing tailored for the body and Reeve will now have another uniform to wear.

“You are exquisite,” I say honestly, complimenting both the creation and the creator in the same breath.

“Thank you,” it murmurs and inclines its head regally, before staring to the side of me with apparent unease.

I glance in that direction and am confronted with what might be the most murderous expression I have ever witnessed on the relatively genial man. I ask him in open disbelief, “Are you actually _jealous_?”

“Now why would I be jealous, hmm? For what reason could I _possibly_ be jealous of something that looks exactly like me and is capable of fulfilling your every whim and fantasy, that will not tire or be subjected to human frailty and all that entails? Surely, I have _absolutely no cause to be jealous_.”

Once he finishes his scathing rebuke, I stand in stunned silence at the bitterness of his words and mentally lambast myself.

_**Why didn’t I anticipate this reaction? He’s insecure about his age, you idiot!** _

“Reeve,” I start in a placating manner, but trail off at the immediate hostility he focuses on me instead of his mechanical copy when I speak.

“Have fun with your new toy,” he spits out and then moves to leave the room, but I grab his arm securely to prevent his escape.

“Wait and hear me out,” I implore. He continues to glower up at me with mulish, angry features, and I earnestly add, “ _Please_.”

“I’m listening. Furious and ready to disregard every single word that is about to come out of your mouth, but listening.”

“Thank you.” I pause momentarily to gather my thoughts, and then embark on my explanation, “It won’t replace you. _Nothing_ could _ever_ replace you, not even something that looks and acts exactly like you, because that’s _not what I love about you_. Anyone can be charming or indulging or pretty, but they would still _never_ be _you_. Do you know what it is that I love about you?” He shakes his head mutely, face carefully neutral, and I resume, “Your brilliance, the fact that you are able to make,” I gesture vaguely at the automaton, “ _that_. Your cleverness, your witticism, your strength, how you _never_ give up in the face of adversity, but it’s more than that. It’s your _potential_ , the way you still manage to surprise me at nearly every turn, and when you do, _I can’t get enough of it_. No matter how well you program them, how good they might get at adapting, _they will never come close to matching you_. I believe that with every fiber of my being. Any imitation would be just that, _a pale comparison to the real deal_ , and why would I ever be satisfied with _that_ when I have the real you? I love you more than anything else in this world and nothing that exists _or will ever exist_ is going to change how I feel about you, Reeve.”

I am breathing heavily by the end of my unexpectedly emotional and expressive tirade, my pulse pounding in my veins. Sharp fear suddenly latches onto me when I review what I have just said as I stare into his disturbingly blank eyes. I have voiced my affection before, but not with such revealing sentiment and I feel horribly exposed, my weakest, most sensitive parts left open to attack and injury.

“That was… _wow_.” 

It is his voice but it is not coming from his mouth. I snap my head around to snarl furiously at the robot, “You are not helping! Be _silent_ ,” and then immediately return my attention to the authentic Reeve.

“You are already treating it like me,” he remarks, but where I expect scorn, I find amusement instead, and my heart stops stuttering quite as rapidly in my chest. “If not to replace me, what _do_ you plan to use it for?”

While troubled that he is not addressing my confession, I readily accept with tangible relief that he might not mention my demonstrative and sickeningly sweet lapse of composure in the present or possibly ever. I still hurry to offer the clarification he requests, wanting to distance us from the topic further, “I thought we could use it as a… supplement.”

“A ‘supplement’? ‘We’? _Tseng_ ,” he stretches out my name chidingly in that way he has which suggests I have just demanded to brutally slaughter thousands of innocents. “I will only say this once. I have _no interest in having sex with myself_.”

“I would.”

“I _know_ you would! You _have_ ,” he exclaims in exasperation.

“No, I meant that I would have sex with my own body double if I had one,” I correct his assumption with measured calm.

At my admission, his mouth gaps open comically in astonishment, closes, opens again, and then he raises a hand to point at me, lowers it, and finally settles to gazing at me with frank, slightly horrified wonder. He clears his throat and slowly says, “I will admit that… I wouldn’t be opposed to watching you… with yourself… but I am simply not that arrogant or… I’m not even sure what quality would make someone so eager to fuck themselves,” he mutters with perplexity.

“I didn’t say that I was _eager_ to, or that I wanted to, just that I would if the opportunity arose.”

“I believe three things would be rising in that situation,” he reflects in a pondering tone. I can almost visualize the gears now spinning into motion in his mind and I struggle to resist the impulse to leer at him.

“Excellent. It is an option to remember for the future.” An unnerving idea occurs to me and I elaborate, “But if you do make a Tseng-alike, it will be for personal use _only_ , not marketed to the masses.”

“Yet it’s alright that my form is exploited in such a manner?”

“That was _your_ choice,” I insist and glare at him.

“Hmm…” He hums musingly and taps his chin to the tempo I recognize as one of my favorite classical pieces, a habit he took to of picking songs I am able to identify once he realized how I attempted to puzzle out the music played by his fingertips. His eyes run absently over my face and then he turns to regard his mirror image closely, which mimics his examination with notable apprehension. “What do you suggest we do with it first?”

With studied nonchalance, I answer, “I have a few ideas.” 

“I just bet you do.” The smile that tugs up the corners of his lips is definitely not what could be called friendly and the Reeve-alike pales at the sight.

“You’re… not going to hurt it, are you?”

“They don’t feel physical pain,” he states dismissively, matter-of-factly, and a bolt of disquiet lashes down my spine.

_**Leviathan, with his self-loathing… What have I done?** _

“Reeve…” I strive to discover the words that might banish the morbid notion from his head, but my concentration is derailed when he looks back at me with a disarmingly luminous combination of tenderness, warmth, and adoration shining from him so strongly it steals the breath from my lungs.

“You are irreplaceable to me, too, Tseng, and no substitute will ever do.”


End file.
